


heaven's blood

by victoriachase



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Addiction, Eating Disorders, M/M, POC Harry Potter, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 19:03:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11019630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victoriachase/pseuds/victoriachase
Summary: Always real, always right. Always alright.





	1. propeller

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is basically the spawn of this idea that's currently holding back my ideas for everything else I'm trying to work on, as well as being an outlet for some personal things I'm in need of working through. The fic may get a bit choppy between chapters because of the fact that I'm awful at committing to long plots and storylines combined with this fic being written at 2am - sorry! Just a quick warning, the content of this fic may not be the happiest and may cause upset/discomfort to readers, so please be careful reading this and take note of the tags. In spite of the warning, I hope you enjoy this; kudos and feedback are always much appreciated! Feel free to leave comments or hit me up on twitter at: @buiidgods :)
> 
> The fic is currently unrated as I haven't yet decided the full direction I'll be taking this in, but of course should any changes occur, the rating will change. :)

Regardless of what anyone said, it wasn't his fault. The slippery claws of the illness had taken root in him long before he had even realised, it was a disease that existed out of his scope of control; no matter how hard he tried, the one thing that kept him feeling stable was really what was controlling him.

It had been over two years since the war, over two years since he had seen most of his friends, over two years since Potter and his friends spoke at the trial on his behalf (only  _just_  managing to keep Draco in control of his inheritance as the heirs of both the Malfoy fortune and his portion of the Black fortune), over two years since he and Pansy had that awful fight - screaming match - which resulted in her slapping him in full view of a reporter for Rita Skeeter's godawful publication. 

That day, he supposed, was what resulted in his abrupt disappearance from the public eye. For a while he had lived with his mother at the manor, but after a while even her quiet worrying began to grate at what was left of his nerves. So he left again. 

Now, he was in a high rise in muggle London. East London, though being a relatively cheap area to live in, was becoming just fashionable enough for him to be able to cope with the location. Not that it mattered very much seeing as he had become somewhat of a recluse. He deserved it though, and that was what no one seemed to be able to grasp. The reason he had so many fights to run from.

After all, he had fucking sided with _him_ during the war. Regardless of the fact that his family would likely have been killed had he not, he was to blame for an awful number of evils the war brought about.

The end of the war was probably when he really got ill.

Though it had started in sixth year with the pressure of having the cabinet to repair and Dumbledore to murder and Snape always on his fucking case, not to mention the chosen one skulking after him all the time trying to put dents in his carefully laid plans, the worst of it really began when the Dark Lord was finally killed.

In sixth year it had just been a few skipped meals here and there interspersed with late night flights to burn off steam when he couldn’t sleep. After the war had ended, he had expected the control he had lost over his life to return to him as easily as it had left with the Dark Lord’s death resulting in him vacating the manor.

Ghosts can live on in the minds of men.

It was irrational and Draco knew it, but every fear he had, every doubt his mind created, he could hear Voldemort loud and clear at the back of his consciousness siding with the manifestations of terror Draco’s brain provided.

Which was how he ended up here, having collapsed outside Hackney Wick tube station after years of having relied on potions to keep him awake and alive through the day. He was unsure why he was currently looking up at familiar bushy hair and brown skin, but the universe had always had something against him. It was probably cosmic revenge, or something.

He shut his eyes.

***

“Malfoy,” he heard, “Look, Malfoy you can’t die on me now, not here, not after I’ve had to save you and fight for you.”

He shut his eyes again.

***

When he woke up he was in unfamiliar surroundings. He recognised the clinical stench of St. Mungo’s, but he had no idea where he was. The only identifiable feature of his room was the thick mop of hair belonging to a sleeping body on a chair across from him.

“Potter?” His voice came out dry and scratchy. He cleared his throat and began again, “Potter? Is that you?”

Met with nothing but silence, he looked around him to find ways of getting Potter’s attention. Spotting a lone container on a small chest of drawers beside his bed, he braced himself to throw the item at Potter, groaning slightly at how sore and weak his body felt. Hospital was good for no one.

The container hit Potter’s shoulder with a satisfying thwack, leading to him making unintelligible noises of shock before fumbling for his glasses and looking up at Draco with those trademark wide eyes.

“Nghhhh, Malfoy,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep, “You’re awake, finally.” He yawned at Draco, before shaking his head sharply and standing.

“Malfoy,” he began, “Do you, do you know where you are?”

Draco sneered back at him. “Of _course_ , Potter, I’d have to be an imbecile to not recognise the scent of mass-produced potions and weakness. Now, will you please explain how I got here, and what the _fuck_ your business is in this matter.”

Potter glared right back at him.

“Listen, Malfoy, I want to be here about as much as you do. But I’m the only person who could be here. I was there when you, when –”

When Draco fell. Fuck. He felt the heat of embarrassment and anger rising to his cheeks. Who the _fuck_ did Potter think he was? Who was he to fucking, fucking _kidnap_ Draco and drag him to St. Mungo’s?

“Look,” he began, “I don’t see how it’s any of your business what happened, but I don’t need to be here. I’m fine.”

A look of… something flickered across Potter’s face before it became startlingly neutral.

“Malfoy.” His tone was calm, but the gravity of it felt like it was piercing Draco’s flesh, not dissimilarly to a knife. Or a well-cast Sectumsempra. “Malfoy, look. I don’t know how to say this, and it really shouldn’t be me saying it, but fuck it. They don’t have anyone else right now and they kept telling me you have to hear this. You’re sick.”

Fear pooled in Draco’s stomach. Sick? How could he be? And, for that matter, what could he be sick with that would result in him being in St. Mungo’s? He hadn’t been in any Wizarding areas in over two years, let alone had any contact with any wizards. There was simply no sense in what Potter was saying. So he said as much.

Potter flushed, looking sheepish. “I can’t say that I understand the specifics, Malfoy, but they say,” he broke off, reinstating his previous calm, collected expression, “Look, mate, they say that you’ve done this to yourself. They’re, well, they’re saying that you’ve _made_ yourself this sick.”

Draco’s fear was replaced with confusion. “What in Merlin’s name are you talking about, Potter? I haven’t done _anything_ of the sort to myself.”

This caused Potter’s mask to crack, a sliver of horror making it through to the surface before being carefully smoothed into the neutral expression Draco was so beginning to despise.

“Have, have you um. Have you looked in a mirror lately, Malfoy?”

“What on earth does _that_ have to do with anything? What could a mirror tell me about being ill?”

Potter began to look uncomfortable, and this time he made no attempt to hide it.

“Look, mate –”

“I’m not your _fucking_ mate,” Draco spat out, “Just tell me what you have to say so I can figure out how best to rectify this situation you’ve so obviously caused, you berk.”

“Look, mat- Malfoy,” he said, kneading his forehead with this forefinger and thumb, a pained expression on his face, “You’re, well. Look, maybe it’s easier if I show you.”

He moved closer to Draco, hovering over the side of the bed, gesturing at Draco to silently ask permission to touch Draco. When his warm, solid hand made contact with Draco’s wrist, Draco let out a hiss. Potter wrapped his forefinger and thumb around Draco’s wrist with a gentleness Draco would never have expected from the man he remembered leaving behind in the Wizarding world. He looked up at Potter in confusion; what exactly was this invasion of his personal space supposed to be demonstrating?

“Malfoy, look. I know you were always a skinny git at school, but this is new. This is different. You’re wasting away.”

And there was that look again. Not so fleeting this time; Draco winced as the face next to him looked at him as though he might shatter.

It was all a misunderstanding, he was _fine_. Better than fine. He was perfect. And Potter, as usual, was being ridiculous and trying to save another person who didn’t need to be. He looked around the room, making a mental assessment of where all things were, before moving to get up. Potter placed a hand against his shoulder, stopping him.

“Malfoy. That’s not all. The healers tried to give you some potions to rebalance the level of vitamins and minerals in your body, an attempt at working out what nutritional levels needed to be met by your body, but they couldn’t.”

Draco paled.

“They tried every variation of the replenishing potions they had, and they just wouldn’t take. They’ve said your body’s built up some sort of tolerance to them, they, well, they can’t do anything magically for you. And they’ve deemed muggle methods of recovering from this sort of thing too barbaric, so, well.”

If it were possible, Draco felt even more uneasy than he had since waking up. His fears were coming true. He felt the familiar voice at the back of his head chastising him for even having used the potions ( _they make you such a weak fucking_ fatty, _Draco_ ), before he retched in the direction of Potter’s feet. As expected, nothing came out.

He lay back, and shut his eyes again.

***

“Harry, look I think he’s waking up again.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, ‘Mione, wanker’s probably just kicking up another fuss.”

“Ron! Don’t be so insensitive! He’s, well, you _know_.”

Draco heard someone, probably the weasel, scoff in response. He tried blinking his eyes, yes; both of them worked _thank Merlin_ , before pushing up on his elbows to survey his surroundings. Though his body was still groggy from sleep – he was **not** ill, for Merlin’s sake – he could make out the tall shape of Weasley, and the shorter, bushier haired figure of Granger. Merlin’s _fucking_ balls, Potter was an arse.

“Yeah, he is sometimes, isn’t he, Ron,” he heard Granger say.

He hadn’t meant to voice his opinions out loud, but if someone was agreeing, then to hell with it. He allowed his eyes to fully adjust before scowling at the sight before him. Potter, the fucking arsehole, was chewing on his thumbnail, while sat on his chair behind Granger and Weasley. Fucking _fantastic_.

“Good,” Granger continued, “He _is_ awake, I did tell you, Ron,” before moving closer to properly look at him. Draco realised with a twisting feeling in his stomach that Granger was decked out in the robes of a healer, the familiar deep purple Draco had associated with hospitals for years setting off the dark, rich tones of Granger’s skin.

He felt uncomfortable, trapped in an unfamiliar situation.

“Look, Draco,” Granger went on – _Merlin_ , the girl could talk – her pace picking up speed, “You’ve been out for a few days now. We’ve only just managed to keep you stable with a few modified stasis charms, but we’ve had to come up with a long-term plan to help you.”

Draco took a deep breath. Fucking _Gryffindors_. Always out to save someone.

“Look, Granger, I don’t know what Potter’s been telling you, but there’s absolutely nothing wrong with me. I’m fine, honest!” He thought about trying for a smile, but the tiredness he felt deep in his bones vetoed the option before it even presented itself.

Granger frowned at him. “Draco. Please, it’s difficult, I know, but we’re trying to help you. We just want for you to get better. Surely you can’t think that the way you’ve been treating yourself of late is in any way healthy?”

And it maybe it wasn’t, but it was _fine_ and it was what he _deserved_.

Granger took his silence as an opportunity to continue, a pursed attempt at a smile on her face.

“We, that is, our team of healers, have reached the conclusion that in order to get on track with your recovery; you’ll have to be released into the care of another witch or wizard. We were going to enquire after your mother, but in between your resting and waking periods you told us that she was the very last person who could hear about this. Our next attempts were some of your school friends, but,” and here Granger’s expression became extremely pained, “as soon as your name was mentioned, contact was lost. Your only option is someone the hospital trusts will have the time to keep you sticking to a routine we’ve planned out for the next few months. Failure to cooperate, I’m afraid, will result in your being checked into a muggle care facility for illnesses like yours, and believe me, you would much rather accept our former proposal.”

Draco had spent a lot of time between hard places and rocks. Literally, in fact. Wiltshire was _much_ more interesting a place to live in after the war. So he knew what he was being offered was the best he would get. He took a breath.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”


	2. angels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i wrote a lot of this chapter (and fic) a while back, but it's been really grating at me in that it just didn't feel detailed enough. it also really bothered me that it took the usual style of writing that i've fallen into, where time sort of just keeps skipping? but i've since made some modifications and gotten over myself a bit, and decided to reupload the second chapter. once again if, for any reason, this bothers you feel free to let me know and i'll see what i can do about it. hope you enjoy this, and comments and kudos are always much appreciated! :)

When he agreed to Granger’s offer, this wasn’t what he had been expecting. Of all the people he could have been released into the care of, Harry _fucking_ Potter was the last person he would have expected.

Despite Draco’s distance from the Wizarding world, the sporadic letters he received from his mother were enough for him to work out that Potter had also disappeared for a time after the war. Briefly, though. Potter’s return entailed a full press conference, as Draco found out later. He supposed the public, perhaps, deserved to know that their hero wasn’t going to be joining the Auror force any time soon, and instead was taking some time to ‘figure things out’.

Draco couldn’t judge. He’d taken a lot of time.

Staying with Potter was not anything like that he could have expected. He had given up fighting against him and Granger after they arrived at 12 Grimmauld Place, realising that no matter how hard he tried, the two of them would fight back harder.

Granger, over prepared as ever had already drawn up meal charts and planned weekly meetings with both her and a mind healer, throwing so much information at Draco he’d had to sit down.

Draco hadn’t had so little control over his own life since he was in sixth year trying to keep his family alive. He desperately longed for the confines of his east London apartment where, when things were particularly bad, no one could judge him for breaking a mirror or crying into a toilet bowl.

He felt out of his depth in Harry Potter’s inner London townhouse, a fish out of water amongst Gryffindors who didn’t like him – perhaps still hated him, even – but whose responsibility it was to keep him alive.

Granger and Potter spoke to each other in hushed tones while Draco tried to recover what little composure he could muster up. Had he known what he was in for, perhaps he would have refused. Perhaps he would have – Merlin forbid – been forced into the muggle treatment they kept mentioning.

“Mal- Draco,” Granger began, “I can only imagine how much this all is to take in but you have to work with us. It can’t be easy for you to be here, and I’m sure you can understand it’s not particularly easy for Harry or I to be in this position either, but please rest assured the past is in the past. Our priority right now is helping you to get better, to the best of our ability.” To Draco, her speech had sounded like a battle.

He had already lived through enough war to last a lifetime.

***

The first day he had spent at Potter’s house (which Draco later realised was one of the Black houses, after a less than pleasant conversation with a portrait of his great-aunt) was awkward, to say the least.

He, Potter and Granger had all been treading on eggshells, with Draco being terrified of putting a wrong foot forward, and the others apparently still shell-shocked by the situation they were in. Typical bloody Gryffindors.

Granger had exhausted Draco with endless questions about his familial medical history, about any previous medical issues that St. Mungo’s weren’t already aware of, about substance abuse problems that wouldn’t have shown in a magical screening.

The three of them had pored over charts and forms for hours, pausing only for Potter to make a thick, steaming soup and stare quietly at Draco watching him struggle to make it through half of the portion without retching.

Draco had apologised, a furtive stream of I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry, while Granger explained to him that it was early days, and while they were trying to get his body to adjust to the change, it was likely that for a bit his body wouldn’t be happy with whatever he was being made to put into it. She said that it was a good sign that he had managed to get anything in him at all, before it came up. The solution, however, was rather worse.

“Listen, Granger, I know what you and Potter are trying to do, and I suppose I should appreciate it, but really there’s nothing so wrong with me that I have to eat _baby_ food. I’m a fully grown adult! I’m not even really all that unwell!”

Granger frowned at him, a dark expression that Draco was beginning to become frighteningly familiar with casting a shadow on her features.

“Draco. You _will_ follow this meal plan, and you _will_ adhere to the mandatory daily weighing, as well as the weekly meetings with myself and your mind healer, or you _will_ find yourself in a muggle psychiatric ward with tubes up your nose and needles in your veins. You are desperately, desperately ill right now, and the fact that you can’t, or won’t, see it is a clear indicator of the work that we need to get through. We’re all here to help you; this is the best option for you. You just have to be willing to accept what you can’t change now.”

Part of Draco knew she was right, but the darker, most vindictive part of him didn’t want to hear it. He _wasn’t_ ill. This was what he deserved. The survivalist in him managed to win though, allowing him to come to the conclusion that he would probably have to do exactly as he was told if he ever wanted to get back to his life (if he could even call it that).

So he would do what he had to, even if that meant enduring Potter for an indefinite amount of time.

***

It turned out that Potter and Granger weren’t the only reminders of his past Draco had to deal with; Loony Lovegood, of all people, was his mind healer. To make matters worse, she was actually _good_ at her job. Somehow, during their first session, Draco found himself opening up to her in a way he had struggled to with anyone else in a long time. It would have been nice, had it not been part of her job to try and “cure” Draco, or whatever it was everyone was so hell bent on doing.

She was soft-spoken and gentle even when saying harsh, bruising words like ‘anorexia nervosa’ and ‘eating disorder’ and ‘emaciated’.

She had even smiled and said, “It’s quite alright, Draco, I’ve had time to move on from it, and I know now that you were only following orders to protect yourself and your family,” at Draco’s broken apology for not doing more for her during the war.

They talked about how and why he did what he did – Draco was still refusing to call it an illness, no matter how much Latin or Greek or fucking French they threw at him – and they talked about how he felt about being completely at the mercy of the person who hated him most throughout school.

During only one session Draco found himself realising that whether he was ill or not, he must have let himself get rather out of hand if he had passed out in public, and that something must have been wrong for it to have happened.

When Draco’s hour with Luna was up, he looked around in one of the nearby lounges while Luna and Granger discussed him. He was in the middle of perusing a large, wooden bookcase when he heard footsteps behind him.

He turned around to see Potter standing uncomfortably, showing perhaps the most emotion Draco had seen since he first woke up to the other man in the hospital room. It was interesting how much Potter had seemed to have changed; he was no longer so hot-headed, or obtuse. Somehow there seemed to be something _different_ about him, something wiser, and older, and more knowing in his dark eyes.

Potter cleared his throat at the same time as Draco began to say, “I think, perhaps, I should thank you-”, before Potter gestured for Draco to speak first.

“Sorry, yes, I think, maybe, I should thank you for this. I suppose, no actually, I know from Luna that this can’t be in any way ideal for you, and I’d like to just thank you now before anything goes horribly wrong, I guess.” Draco had probably never been less eloquent, but at this point in the day he was exhausted, and life was just happening around him, and he was in this unfamiliar environment, so the universe _obviously_ wouldn’t be cutting him some slack any time soon.

“I won’t lie to you, Malfoy, I can’t say I’m particularly happy about this, but I knew what I was getting into when we were at St. Mungo’s; we don’t have to like each other for me to help you. And I’m going to be completely dedicated to that – I’m going to do my best to not let our past overshadow the reason why you’re here.”

Draco felt slightly bewildered at this new and improved and _mature_ Harry Potter, but nodded his assent, letting the two of them shift into silence.

They stood there for a while, not talking, until Granger and Luna returned. It hadn’t been awkward; Draco preferred the emptiness of the silence over forcing conversation with someone whose life he had made hell for years.

After Potter, Granger and Luna had confirmed some details with each other, the two healers left, leaving Draco and Potter alone in the large house.

It wasn’t going to be easy, but Draco would have to endure this.

***

After a week of living with Potter and suffering embarrassing weight checks where Draco had to stand in his underwear in one of Potter’s many bathrooms, the two of them seemed to fall into a sort of routine.

They didn’t speak to each other much, but Potter stayed true to his word and was incredibly patient with Draco. Even when Draco knew he was being insufferable, Potter was calm and collected, hardly reacting when he found Draco with his fingers down his throat and Draco had screamed at him. After that, though, Potter had kept less of a distance and sat in the drawing room with Draco while the two of them read or listened to programmes, or sometimes even watched things on one of those muggle contraptions Draco still didn’t understand.

He’d had another meeting with Luna and Granger and though he still didn’t really believe any of it, he tried to listen to them when they were going through his Recovery Plan with him and discussing what Draco needed to do to try and stay on track. It was all horrifically overwhelming, and when he told Luna so she was less than surprised.

“Getting better takes a lot of strength, Draco, it’s completely natural for this to all seem like a lot when your life previously has a sense of routine which has now been thrown off completely. It’s a good sign that you felt comfortable telling me this, I’m glad we’re making some progress.” And it was comforting to hear things like that, even though Draco was feeling more lost than ever.

He wouldn’t – couldn’t – admit it, but he missed his friends. He had hurt Pansy when he’d last seen her, and she had obviously told Greg and Blaise about it, so the past couple of years had been far worse than they could have been. Maybe if they had still been in his life Draco wouldn’t be sitting on a lumpy sofa in 12 Grimmauld Place, struggling to drink his too sweet tea. Maybe he would have been happy now.

It wouldn’t do to dwell on the past, but Draco found himself thinking about it more while he was staying at Potter’s house. He even asked him about it one night. It had been one of the rare good days where Potter’s mouth had turned up slightly at the edges when he told Draco that he’d gained a slight bit of weight, and Draco’s body didn’t reject every fatty, high-calorie meal that was put into it.

“Potter,” Draco began, “how have you been so okay with all of this, so far? I mean, I’ve been far from the perfect houseguest, and you have all these, all these _responsibilities_ that come with having me here, surely it’s a lot. Not that I’m not grateful, though.”

Potter just stared at him, his dark, owlish eyes magnified by the lenses of his glasses.

“I have nothing else to do, having you here helps me as much as it does you,” Potter replied, “And besides, I’d like to think we’re both mature enough now for this to be okay.” He paused, before continuing with, “Besides, Hermione feels that me doing things like this is good for me while I’m still working through my own issues.”

It was the most personal Potter had ever gotten with him in the entire time Draco had been staying with him, and he didn’t want to push the other man into talking about things he wasn’t comfortable with, but once Potter started he didn’t seem to want to stop.

“I think people still forget how much the war changed everyone, and like, I’d move past it if I _could_ but some days it’s all I can think about, you know? I used to talk about this all with Luna as well, actually. I felt bad, though, because it seemed that all I was doing was spilling my problems onto everyone else, people who had already been through enough. Which is kind of what I’m doing now, sorry.” He looked sheepish, but not sorry at all, which Draco felt should have bothered him, but did the complete opposite.

“It’s quite all right, Potter, listening to you vent is the least I could do for all that you’re giving me while I’m here. I’m sure I’m the last person you would have wanted in your home.”

To Draco’s surprise, Potter frowned at him.

“Call me Harry, please, and no, it’s not been all that bad actually. When I saw you, that day outside the station, I could tell what the war had done to you, because it had done the same to me, just, in less of a physical way. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Hermione and I argued a lot before I agreed to this, but since you’ve been here it’s hardly been a problem for me. When you get all angry and stubborn it reminds me of when we were at school, and it’s kind of nice. Which is weird, but it’s true.”

They sat in silence for a while, but it was comfortable with the weight of a complicated shared history morphing into something newer and tenderer.

“I was scared, you know,” Harry said, cutting into the silence, confusing Draco further. “I mean, obviously we weren’t ever _friends_ or anything, but it just, well it felt like we were _connected_ like I was supposed to be there and help you.”

“Maybe it was just the cosmos telling you to save me one more time.”

***

He and Potter’s routine became easier after that, with Draco slowly finding out that Harry actually did have a personality and a sly sense of humour underneath all his carefully blank expressions.

He became more comfortable sharing things with Harry too, telling him how he had ruined his friendship with Pansy, and by extension all his closest friends, when she confronted him about his unhealthy habits and he had lashed out at her in fear. Harry listened quietly, and made him cups of tea and didn’t seem to judge him at all.

Harry told him often about how he was scared more often than not, and how he too felt a deep urge to be in control all the time. It almost felt like they were becoming friends.

Even when Draco was at his worst, and kicked and screamed over a meal he was supposed to eat, or over having to be weighed, Harry maintained an eerie sense of calm, but told him stories in soothing tones to bring him back down, and they talked about what they thought they deserved and didn’t, and how the wounds of the war were still fresh in their minds.

Harry only ever seemed to get close to angry when Draco was mopey and sleepy and mumbled out careless sentences like ‘just leave me alone to die, it’s not as if I don’t deserve it’. Draco supposed it was probably because of Harry’s do-gooder personality, or maybe the fact that he had put so much into saving Draco’s life, even though he had no reason to.

“I died, you know,” Harry said offhandedly once, after Draco had worked himself up into one of his States again.

“I think maybe that’s why I help sometimes with the hospital, because I know what it’s like, dying, as in, and I’ve just seen so much _death_ I want to help people to live. So you can’t go dying on me, Malfoy, not after how far you’ve come.”

***

It was a little after the seventh month Draco had spent at Grimmauld Place that the weight of it all really hit him, how much progress he had made, how he and Harry were able to call each other _friends_ now, how he was finally able to discuss the fact that _perhaps_ his behaviour had caused him to fall ill. 

It was an uphill struggle, of course, it took time to unlearn the unhealthy habits and behaviours and thoughts that came to him with ease, but he was starting to see how someone could feel proud of the progress he had made.

He was still thin, always had been, but now he didn’t feel a constant chill, his stomach didn’t react violently to food; he himself didn’t feel (so often) that cold sense of dread when confronted with a meal.

Recently, he and Luna had been talking a lot about how pressure and expectations had weighed him down for most of his life, and how perhaps his issues with eating had stemmed from that, from his overwhelming need to please, and to be totally in control. They talked about how terrified he had been of disappointing his father, and how his mother, too, had been scared enough of Lucius to rarely fight against him.

He and Harry spoke about it first, before Draco had an appointment with Luna, Harry’s face breaking out into a full smile as he congratulated Draco on how well he was doing. It felt like an achievement, like catching the snitch or kissing someone for the first time, and Draco smiled back.

“I just feel like,” Draco began, the words already heavy and bitter on his tongue, “I just feel like, maybe we’re falling back on each other as crutches now.” He _wanted_ to regret it, the moment he had said it, but he knew it was true, and knew Harry could sense it too.

“What do you mean, Draco, I don’t understand where this is coming from? I mean, after all I’ve done for you –”

“You see,” Draco cut in, “this is _exactly_ what I’m talking about. It’s not normal for us to be like this, for _you_ to be like this. Granger _and_ Lovegood both said that it would be fine for me to start returning to my old life, and to start fixing the cracks in my past relationships that I left behind when I left the wizarding world, when everything fell to shit. We can’t keep clinging to what feels familiar – it’ll break us both, it’ll be worse than we were before.”

He could tell from Harry’s silence that he knew he was right, but he still felt awful.

“Look, we can still be friends, I just need to separate all of this,” he gestured wildly at the room, “from the life I can have now, the life you spent so long helping me realise I could have. It’s not healthy for us to be so dependent on each other. I _am_ so thankful to you though, because you _have_ done a lot, and I never would have expected for you to have been part of what helped me to get here, to even _be_ here today. I honestly do owe you more than you can understand, but I need to continue with my recovery process and rebuild my support network.”

Draco didn’t give Harry an opportunity to reply, just left the room to start packing up his things and finding all the contact details and support plans that Granger and Lovegood had outlined for him.

He heard Harry entering his room behind him a few minutes later, for once looking apologetic.

“Look, mate, I’m sorry about earlier, but just, don’t leave. Please. You can stay here, free of charge, honest. I just don’t know if I have anyone else who understands what it’s _like_. How it actually felt, after the war.”

Draco frowned at him, picking up the bags he had filled and shrunken, before gesturing to Harry to follow him to the Floo nearest to the room.

“Harry, you’re being unfair. You can’t, and know you shouldn’t, be putting this on me, or doing this to yourself. We both need some time. I’m not suddenly magically cured, just because I’ve managed to stop hating myself for long enough periods to get some food down, and you’re no better off either, what with the nightmares and the anxiety that you refuse to talk to Luna about.”

“Yes,” Harry replied, his own frustration becoming evident, as he ran his hands through his unruly hair, “I do understand that, but do you really have to leave?”

“I’m sorry, Harry, but this is something I’ve got to do. I’ll write you soon, and I’ll definitely be back round to visit you as soon as everything in order, that’s what friends do, right?” He asked, before taking a handful of Floo powder.

“I just, I’m not sure I can be your friend,” Harry said in reply, a thoroughly pained expression on his face.

Draco turned and glared at him, anger coursing through him as though they were schoolchildren, once again, duelling in courtyards.

“Well fuck you, then,” he spat out, before stepping into the green flames and barking out, “Pansy Parkinson’s apartment.”


	3. found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the not-so-thrilling conclusion. all is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so, after almost a year, it concludes! this fic has been annoying me for a while -- not only because i could never find a way to write it that i was happy with, but also because i just didn't know what direction it was ever going to go in. i doubt i'll ever be fully satisfied with how this ended up, but maybe one day i'll rewrite it in a way that i don't abhor lol. just a quick blanket apology to the people subscribed to this -- i never intended on leaving this fic without an update for as long as i did, and i hope you all enjoy this now :))

_Draco,_

_I’m sorry. I don’t know how else, or how many times to say it. I know I fucked up, but please, please, **please** , write me back. I need to know you’re okay. I need to talk to you._

_Yours,_

_Harry._

*

_Potter,_

_Fuck off. I’m fine. Kindly stop writing._

_Draco Malfoy._

***

“You’re doing the right thing, darling. You should never have to put up with being treated like that.”

“It just… it felt like there was something more to it, you know? He helped me out during a really difficult time and I _knew_ him. He took care of me for months, and it just doesn’t make sense to me that he would be so unkind.”

“I know, Draco,” Pansy said, “I really do know. But you need to think about yourself right now. The last thing you need is something triggering a relapse or unhealthy behaviour, not after all this time and work you’ve put in.”

Draco frowned; although he knew what Pansy was saying was true and came from a place of love, he couldn’t help feeling upset over what had happened with Harry. After all, a large part of his progress was due to the time he had spent with the man.

“Potter’s an arse,” Draco began, “but he – he was one of the people who managed to do the difficult thing and make me see how much… how fucking _ill_ I was. I let go of myself, and my health. I was so scared. I had burnt ever bridge, hadn’t spoken to you, or anyone else I was friends with in years. I hadn’t even _seen_ my mother. It was terrifying.”

“Shit – Draco, I –“

“It’s not your fault, Pans. I didn’t want to hear any of what you were saying. I should have, but it was difficult. You know what I’m like.” He sipped his coffee. “Besides, you’ve been so amazing these past couple of months. Above and beyond, truly.”

Draco watched as Pansy dabbed at her eyes, knowing full well that she would never admit to almost crying, let alone ruin her makeup in the process. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have a friend like her in his life, especially after everything they had been through together, both during and after the war.

Sometimes, Draco found himself thinking about what could have happened if he hadn’t been so unwell, how he would have coped with the new world after the war and all the changes to come. Each version of events saw Pansy there, being the friend and family and all round _rock_ that Draco had always been too afraid to admit to needing.

The time that they had spent apart from each other after their fight had been difficult for Draco; he had been terrified of having lost her forever, and hadn’t expected for things to go back to normal between them so quickly after his recovery. He also knew that without fighting with Pansy, things wouldn’t have spiralled so out of control that he would have had anything to be recovering from.

Pansy was sharper than most people thought, and had known for a while that Draco wasn’t looking after himself properly, how stubborn he was, how unlikely it was that he would have listened to anything she had to say about him and his health, and still she had tried.

Draco still felt lost though. He had been in recovery for months, doing really well, in fact, before Potter went and threw him for a loop. And then, made matters worse by sending dozens of apologetic letters, written in that endearingly bumbling way that _almost_ made Draco want to miss him. It was a problem, and not one that Draco knew the first thing about solving.

*

“What do you think you should do?”

“I don’t know, Lovegood, that’s why I’m talking to you. You’re the therapist, so, therapise.”

“It doesn’t work like that, and you know it, Draco. I can’t tell you what to do, that’s not my job. We can talk through some of the possibilities and you can decide what you want to do afterwards.”

“You know, don’t you? You know why he was such an arsehole.”

“Even if I did, you know I can’t discuss that with you. He’s my patient, and my friend. Just like I would never tell him about anything the two of us talk about, I could never tell you what I talk about with Harry.”

“I know I just… I need to know. Pansy thinks I’m better off without him in my life, but I _owe_ him my life. Twice over, in fact. It’s ridiculous, I know, but I can’t decide whether I hate him or miss him. He wrote me a letter, and now… it’s all I can think about. I mean, I wrote him back, and now he won’t _stop_ sending me letters, but it’s driving me up the wall.”

“What does he say in these letters?” Luna asked, watching Draco intently while her quill took notes.

“It’s mostly just a lot of nonsense about how sorry he is and how he needs to speak to me.”

“Do you want to speak to him?”

“I don’t know,” Draco sighed, “that’s the problem.”

*

It was quite by chance that Draco finally got his answers.

*

“Draco! Draco!”

Draco turned around, trying to figure out who, other than Pansy, or possibly Luna, would recognise him in a crowded market in East London. As soon as he saw the familiar mop of knotty black hair he swore under his breath and tried to increase his pace to push through the crowds and away from Potter.

“Draco! Fuck, please, slow down! I just want to talk!” Potter had somehow caught up to Draco quickly enough to be able to grab at the sleeve of Draco’s jumper, causing him to stumble.

“What the fuck do you want to talk about? Can you not take a hint? I’m extremely pissed off at you still, and I’m apparently very fragile still, as my _friends_ are all very keen on reminding me.”

“Look, can we just – can we sit down somewhere? There’s a café up the road, I just need five minutes, please. I’m – I’m begging you.” Something about the pitiful, desperation on Potter’s scruffy, bearded face tugged at Draco’s heartstrings.

“You can have two. And you’re buying.”

*

They walked in silence to the café, with Draco using his height to his advantage to spite Potter into having to half jog to keep up with him.

“I want an Americano, black two sugars. Or sweetener, if they have it. Hurry, or it’ll cut into the two minutes you’re lucky I’m giving you.”

Potter returned quickly with Draco’s coffee and a mug of something with a tower of whipped cream and sprinkles. He set them down with a thud that sent their drinks splashing onto the table.

“So you’re still living like a mug–“

“I’m not here for small talk, Potter. Either say your piece, or fuck off and let me drink my coffee in peace. Your two minutes have already started.”

Potter frowned at him. “Okay, fine. I owe you an apology. Many apologies, actually. I shouldn’t have said what I did when you were leaving. It was unfair of me, and I hurt you. I’m sorry for sending you so many letters, as well. It only recently occurred to me how annoying that could have been, and also how upsetting. It was difficult for me – for me to lose you. I was projecting my own issues onto you, and I was overwhelmed.

I – I’ve been trying to find a way to say this to you for a while. I knew I couldn’t have said it when you were staying with me and I was looking after you, because it would have been completely inappropriate, and you left earlier than I thought you were going to. I never managed to get as far as working out how to tell you, but, I guess this is my only opportunity. I had – have – feelings for you. That’s why I couldn’t be your friend. It was pathetic of me, and I wish I could take it back, because I’d rather be just friends with you, than whatever we are right now.”

Potter had been staring into his whipped cream through his speech, but now he was looking up at Draco with blatant nervousness in his eyes. He was probably right to be nervous, as the last thing Draco had been expecting Potter to say was _any_ of that. He would never have guessed that the other man had feelings for _him_ , an anorexic former Death Eater who still needed an awful lot of therapy.

“Can you say something? Please? I know it’s a lot, but –”

“I need time. To think,” Draco replied, “but I accept your apology. I have to go now.”

He hadn’t even had time to drink his coffee.

*

“What do you _mean_ he said he has feelings for you? Does he _love_ you? Does he just want to shag you silly?” Pansy’s voice had taken a turn from its usual nasal to shrill. It was doing Draco’s head in, but he didn’t know who else to ask for advice, especially when his own therapist was also Potter’s. _Especially_ when he had just started to connect the dots about his feelings towards Potter over the years, and how they added up to one great big giant case of fancying the git. It was only logical, Draco thought to himself. Potter was undeniably good-looking, and he and Draco had bonded a lot during the intense period of time Draco had spent living at Grimmauld Place.

But it was still a lot to take in, especially when he knew how potentially dangerous a new relationship could be for him while he was still having to put in real, solid work to stay on track with his recovery.

“I don’t _know_ , Pans, I’m just repeating what he said to me. He’s a bloody pig-headed Gryffindor, though, so I wouldn’t be surprised if his nonsense was some strange way of him confessing his undying love to me – no, don’t make that face – or some such rot.”

“But… he – he’s not –”

“Bisexual. We talked about it a couple of times when I was staying with him. It’s not a secret, but I guess it’s not common knowledge.” Draco sighed.

“Merlin… I’m afraid to ask, but, how do you feel about him? And no vagueness.”

“Do you really have to ask? I’ve been obsessed with him since we were children. And now, he’s a gorgeous hero who’s saved my life multiple times. I think it should be quite obvious how I feel.”

“So _do_ something, Draco. Stop telling yourself you can’t have the things you want, the things you need, and live your fucking life as it should be lived. You didn’t spend months getting healthy after depriving yourself of one thing only to take another important thing away from yourself, did you?”

*

Draco knew Pansy was right, but it didn’t make it any easier to figure out what to do. He finished the bottle of wine he and Pansy had been sharing, and started to write.

_Potter,_

_We should talk. Come over once you’ve read this._

_Draco Malfoy._

*

It was late when Draco was awoken by loud, persistent knocking at his door. He stumbled through his living room, running a hand through his sleep-ruined hair before opening the door to a very agitated Potter. Potter pushed past Draco and began pacing in the living room.

“Hello, Potter, why, yes, of course you can come in. Make yourself at home, why don’t you.” Draco watched as Potter continued to pace circles in his rug.

“God, Draco, I’m sorry, I’ve just been on edge since you left the café earlier. I’m absolutely terrified, maybe more so than when I saw you all that time ago outside the station. If this is a rejection, though, can we make this quick, because I’d rather know sooner than –” He didn’t get to finish his sentence, as Draco had already made his way across the room and shut him up with a fierce kiss.

“I’m terrified, too,” Draco admitted, once Potter had grown tired of having his tongue down his throat. “You keep saving me, and I don’t know what to do. I know we’re both in much better states of mind than the last time we saw each other, or the first time, even, but I don’t want to fuck this up. I don’t want this to fuck _me_ up, again.”

“I know,” Potter replied, “and I know that’s why you had to leave, before. I know, now, that giving you time and space to focus on your health is the most important thing, and even though I know how I feel, and I think – hope – I know how you feel, I would never want to jeopardise your recovery. I’ve spoken to both Luna and Hermione about this –”

“Wait – Lovegood _and_ Granger knew about your mad, undying love for me? Have they no gossipy bones in their bodies?”

“Well, no, but that’s not the _point_. What I’m trying to say is, I asked them both about how dating could affect me and my mental health, and how to make sure I don’t endanger myself or you, you know, if we make a thing of this. Which I want to. I don’t know if that was clear. But I want to take this slowly. I was in a bad place for a long time, and you helped me out of it. I should have made that more obvious to you when you were there, but I was afraid. I still am, but now, I want to take the risk. I know you’re worth taking a chance on. I trust you.”

Draco turned away from Potter so he could swipe at his eyes with his sleeve so that the tears forming in his eyes weren’t obvious.

“Thank you for telling me this, Potter, now get out.” At Potter’s confused protests, he continued, “I seem to recall _someone_ saying that they want to date me and take it _slowly_ , and taking it slowly means I have to get the gorgeous man out of my flat, because I’m not a complete harlot who sleeps with men on the first date.” He punctuated it with a kiss, though, to assuage the fears he knew Potter would need prompting before talking about.

Even after Potter left, Draco’s heart felt full. He couldn’t believe that only a year ago, the universe had dumped him into the lap of Harry “hero-complex” Potter, and that with the help and, he guessed, love of the other man, he had managed to cheat death once again.

He knew that the future was uncertain, that there would be many more good days, and probably a few bad, but _finally_ he was starting to picture a life where he could be happy and healthy and loved _with_ all of his flaws, instead of despite them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, this is it, i guess. it took a while to get here, but i hope you enjoyed this even though pretty much the entirety of it was written during bouts of poor health/insomnia/etc. and mostly has no discernible plot lol (i really just wanted to finish this, so i could move on with the other fics i've been putting off for weeks/months/years)
> 
> as always, comments and kudos are always appreciated :))

**Author's Note:**

> Title's taken from Pepsi/Coke Suicide by Elvis Depressedly, and chapter titles from My Propeller by Arctic Monkeys, Angels by A$AP Rocky, and Lost and Found by Acid House Kings. Thank you for reading! :)


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